


Monty didn't die so Weiss could vore Ironwood

by BrokenLevel



Category: RWBY
Genre: Cannibalism, Castration, Cock Vore, F/M, Guro, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-06 21:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14656800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenLevel/pseuds/BrokenLevel
Summary: Response to the prompt "Trapped in her mansion for so long, Weiss couldn’t help but get extremely hungry. Hungry for a certain general, even."





	Monty didn't die so Weiss could vore Ironwood

**Author's Note:**

> This is, objectively, the worst thing I've ever written.

Weiss wondered, as she stared into the hallway’s decorative mirror, if she wore the tragedies that she had seen plainly on her face. She wondered if, to the wandering and scornful whispering eyes of the Atlas elite, she looked as dark and broken as the world was around her - illuminated only by the hollow reflections of the shattered moon, inky shadows marring already dim and somber walls.  


The horrors she had seen at Beacon kept her awake, most nights. The screams echoed in her ears. The bloodshed replayed over and over in front of her shielded eyes. The sick memory of those warm and familiar professors and veteran huntsmen— rendered into broken and weeping _things_ , a sick and cruel _mockery_ of the unwavering trust and faith that she had placed in them.

A door opened, a small distance down the hall; its creaking gentle. Quiet. Mindful of the late hour, and of the echos that bloomed within these void and hollow halls.

_General Ironwood._

She hadn’t seen General Ironwood cry, that night. She remember that he was dirty, and that he was tired, and that he was so tender and  _exposed_ ; but other than that— _he was so well put together._

_How?_

“General,” Weiss gave him the barest minimum of a curtsy as he entered her path, before continuing on her way. Paying no further mind to Ironwood in the present, she relayed the memory of him in her head.

Lost to him standing there, so impassive, she was oblivious to his eyes as they followed her—

To his his head twisting—

And to him finally turning on his heel, his body following after her. 

“Miss Schnee, are you—”

Ironwood reached out, only managing to place his hand onto her shoulder for a fleeting moment as Weiss continued walking, unintentionally scorning him, so deeply lost in thought.

“ _Weiss._ ” Ironwood’s voice was all that followed her, now, as he stood staring hard into the back of Weiss’ head. His beckoning was low, stern— _caring_.

_Her name, spoken so tender, and so rife with concern— was said with such caring._

Ironwood’s raw tenderness is what ripped Weiss from her relayed trauma; she had been so alone here, in this cold and stifling place. So terribly at the mercy of her own corrosive thoughts, and her own lurking fears and suffocating trauma, that General Ironwood’s show of the slightest warmth was like an arrow of burning fire shot straight into her heart.

“How do you cope?” Weiss didn’t turn to face him. She didn’t offer any sort of preface, or any sort of context to her inquiry.

She knew.

 _He_ knew.

Ironwood breathed deep, and exhaled through his nose; the sound of his soft hiss and diffused baritone somehow soothing to Weiss’ turmoiled soul. 

“The knowledge that there are far too many people who rely on me, for me to ever falter.”

Weiss offered no reply; his answer bounced so empty within her, passing through her as if he had only said some vapid, off-handed remark about the paint on the walls, or about the beauty of her dress.

He continued.

“…Whether you want to or not, you—” His words were hushed, now. Hesitant. “You start to grow accustomed to the pain, Weiss. It gets better. More bearable.”

Ironwood paused, the dryness in his mouth and throat audible in the suffocating silence of the hall.

“You— _You even start to enjoy it._ ”

Weiss turned, finally— slowly. Looking across at him; boring into his very soul with her her pale blue eyes, so wide and desperate and wavering.

Anything to sate this churning void in her body; to fill this hurtful emptiness in her soul.

“Show me.”

* * *

  
Weiss was always aware of Ironwood’s extensive prosthetics— little glints and glimpses of odd silver here and there. Petty, biting remarks by Jacques (and occasionally parroted by Whitley) only reaffirming her suspicions before she was able to see and confirm with her own eyes.

Through years of him spent frequenting the Schnee manor - years of him spent being a good little liaison for the military, before being a good little General for all of Atlas - time allowed for many strange mishaps between them both.

Be it one of Weiss’ many secret peeks at his and Winter’s illicit training sessions, where Winter’s outbursts so often resulted in James needing a new right arm or leg—

Or one of the few times Weiss saw him at his lowest points, petty and spiteful; unconscious in strange and embarrassing places after a boisterous party that he was obligated to _physically_ attend. Some part of his uniform always splashed with alcohol and in disarray, some forbidden steel or strained rubber or vivid splay of wires exposed to any unlucky enough to see.

She had even seen him stripped naked, once, from her vantage point so high above in the manor’s balconies— _Hushed, and hidden_.

She had seen his sprawling scars running deep. His hulking metal and vicious machinery, driven so deeply into his very core.

And Weiss had thought that she had seen all of General ironwood’s shame. That she had seen him to his very core.

 _And that despite everything, somehow, through some baffling way, he was so strong_.

That was his core.  _That_ was James Ironwood.

But as Myrtenaster pierced through his flesh, tearing through his tendons and striking through his bone like it was nothing, Weiss realized she had thought wrong; the broad and blissful smile on Ironwood’s face as his head reared back, and pressed so hard against the wall didn’t… _Fit,_ somehow. Even through all these years, this was a side of him that she had never seen - one that he had never shown, or even hinted at, throughout all of Weiss’ comparatively short life.

Until now.

_Was it the pain, or was it being made so helpless, that excited him so thoroughly?_

_Was it both?_

Weiss stepped back to admire him; James’ feet barely touching the ground, his full weight tugging and straining so hard against such a narrow entry point. _His obvious erection straining so hard against the leg of his pants as he bled out._

A blush crept across Weiss’ face, and she found herself unconsciously licking her lips. 

His cock was so… _Massive._

And the blood was so… _Excessive._

The crimson of his tie was no longer a sweet and supple accent circling his neck and dripping down his chest; his left side’s hemorrhaging just _ruined_ it, rendering his fine, clean-cut lines into a gradated mess of red to a translucent and sickly yellow that bloomed haphazard across the white of his uniform — as though it were some perverse and overexerted sweat.

Weiss brought a hand to her face, standing and posturing as she glanced up at him. 

“You really _do_ enjoy it, don’t you.”

Ironwood barely registered Weiss’ words, still intently focused on riding the delectable pain of his lovingly inflicted wound. 

“Somewhere— Somewhere along the line,” Ironwood shuddered as he began, and couldn’t stifle a pleasured moan; the muscles from talking agitated his impalement, and made the pain shoot so sweetly through what was left of his nerve-endings. “After years— _Years of it_ , the pain does stop hurting— mental, physical— it stops. Because you get numb to it.”

Ironwood reached over himself; his steel fingers firmly grasping Myrtenaster’s narrow blade. “And— And then you find—- After carrying it for so long— It’s all you’re able to process.”

He gave the sword a swift pluck, and his body dropped to the floor; the sound of blunt metal hitting stone tile complimented by Ironwood’s low - _and now decidedly less aroused_ \- groaning. 

Weiss almost laughed, somehow— the bleakness and strangeness of their situation reaching such utterly insane levels, and clearly deserving of insane laughter.

Somehow, even bleeding out as he was, Ironwood was—- so  _cute,_ in this shared and candid moment. His sharp and severe features betrayed him in this low and cold light, and his bashful split-second of surprise when he hit the ground was not lost to Weiss’ sharp and critical eyes.

And Weiss’ brow furrowed, and she pouted at him; snide.

“Excuse me, but who said you could remove my sword?”

Ironwood smiled at her again; a smaller, more innocent and earnest smile that betrayed the heady, lustful eagerness that was still so plain in his eyes. He held the hilt of Myrtenaster out to its rightful owner, its white steel marbled and dripping with his deep crimson.

“That was very inappropriate of me. Perhaps you should take corrective action? But please give me a second chance; I am very good at learning from my mistakes, Miss Schnee.”

Weiss snatched the sword out of Ironwood’s hands, giving it a quick and expert flick - further splattering Ironwood’s uniform with droplets of his own fluids.

“No, General. I am afraid that ship has sailed, and that I don’t share your compassion!” Weiss turned her nose up as she struck a pose with her sword, and feigned agitation when she heard Ironwood stifling his laughter— which quickly transformed into another strange, breathy moan as the convulsions of his chest again tore at his gushing wound.

“For touching a proud Huntress’ and the Heiress of the Schnee Dust Company’s trusty weapon without her consent, I feel that you deserve to endure something truly diabolical!”

She once again turned Myrtenaster’s blade to Ironwood, pressing its merciless point to the tip of his nose— and so delicately, Weiss dragged it downwards, tracing across his soft lips and down his bristled chin, before lingering at his throat; its precise edge scraping and circling the flesh over his Adam’s apple. 

Ironwood shuddered, his erection becoming once again painfully obvious to Weiss as his body shifted uncomfortably under her ministrations, his delectable meat still trapped so callously within the confines of his stiff uniform.

Not letting herself become distracted, not letting the torturous dampness and heat coiling within her pussy get the better of her, Weiss continued to tease Ironwood’s flesh; and when the tip of her blade hit his clavicle, she shifted from his center to his right, and pressed hard into him; her metal meeting his as she continued to press downwards, wasting little time in slicing a slit opening along his bloodied uniform.

Ironwood was panting so pathetically when Weiss reached his eager privates, and she merely stared into his eyes; _his still all-too-desperate and frantically pleading eyes._

They had nowhere to be but here, at this late hour, in this obscure and little-traversed basement alcove of Schnee Manor.

No one would hear them. And no one would find them by chance.

She didn’t break eye contact with him as she pressed the flat of her rapier along the bulging length of his dick, slowly and gently caressing it through the starched and rigid fabric of his pants; back and forth, slowly, she continued to tease him— to milk him of his precum, and let his pants join the rest of his uniform in being soaked and sullied. The tip of his cock did not disappoint, so quickly bleeding such copious amounts of sweet, savory clear; and Weiss smiled as she watched the pool of delectable transparency in his white pants increase in size.

“Oh, General Ironwood,” Weiss teased, a wicked little smile forming from her lips. “It appears as though you’ve got some terribly  _iron wo–_ ”

“Please for the love of God don’t say it,” Ironwood swiftly interjected, his voice dire. “Don’t say the pun.”

Weiss deadpanned, greatly taken back by Ironwood’s sudden bluntness— And for a moment, she found herself wondering if anyone was still even reading this fan fiction up to this point.

She let out a little sigh, pressing her blade hard into Ironwood’s inner thigh; _right_ below the outline of his throbbing erection– and again, Ironwood’s eyes widened and he let out the most delectable cry as he writhed beneath her. As her steel again pushed through his flesh, and cut him through to the bone.

Weiss marveled at how his blood seemed to avoid the wet spot that his precum had claimed for itself; _even at a molecular level, it seemed that all of Ironwood was just so terribly polite._

“Consider this your only mercy of the night, General. I do have a reputation to uphold as an _Ice Queen,_ you know.”

“Y-Yes, Miss Schnee.” Ironwood murmured, lost in a haze of euphoria. “Of course, Miss Schnee.”

She paused, again; there was something so profoundly off-kilter about his sycophantic murmuring, grounding her to her bizarre situation. It was odd, how much she was enjoying herself— how surreal and _happy_ this bloodshed was between them.

This wasn’t—- _This wasn’t at all the bloodshed of Beacon, that was so viciously haunting her dreams_. And, Weiss realized, that the phantom echos of screams and cries had finally given her a moment of rest and respite— giving way for Ironwood’s moans and whimpers and thirsty begging.

But she couldn’t help but wonder— Despite this odd respite, _where had General Ironwood’s strength gone, submitting to her like this?_  

“I want to know how grateful you are to me for this. Tell me, General Ironwood.”

Weiss pulled her blade from his thigh, and with another expert flick of the wrist, was done with her teasing— She cut the crotch of his pants, his erection bursting free with little hesitation.

And once again, Weiss was brought to pause.

She knew his body well enough— But she had never seen him erect; not like this, not without the buffer of clothing, or without the tease of vast distance. He was… _Really, truly massive._

She was so distracted byIronwood’s thick and throbbing cock looking positively ready to burst, that she almost missed her prompted words.

“I’m so grateful, Miss Schnee.” Ironwood panted, his idle steel fingers trailing up to his neglected shoulder wound, so that they might paw at it and agitate it further. “I’d do anything for you. I’d kiss the ground you walked on, Weiss.”  Twice, now, his body had felt the kiss of fresh new steel— only for it to be _so swiftly_ removed.

As she watched him bite and chew his lower lip and casually slip a smooth metallic finger within himself, Weiss wasn’t convinced.

“Those words feel very hollow and canned, General.”

Ironwood only gave her a lazy, slurred smile.

“I’m… Grateful that you’re taking all the initiative, here, Miss Schnee. This is…. A very rare a treat for me. And— I am truly sorry that I’m being so selfish. Thank you for this; for indulging me. I don’t feel as though I deserve it.”

Weiss was taken back; not having expected such an earnest answer after a string of detached murmurings.

Even painfully aroused and at the mercy of his brutal fetishes, James Ironwood was— J _ames Ironwood._ And Weiss felt a bizarre pang of guilt, and answered his honesty with her own.

“You work hard, General. And you’ve always been there when I needed you. You’ve— Never asked anything of me. _Ever,_ actually, now that I think about it. You— even supported me going to Beacon, when I turned down your invitation to Atlas Academy. And I’m— I’m grateful. And I’m enjoying myself, weirdly enough.” _Honesty_ , not _eloquence._

“Well,” Ironwood was very clearly blushing; humbled and not expecting Weiss to confide so plainly in him. Out of some stupid and nervous impulse, a dredged up remnant of his rowdy cadet days long past— he gestured to his erection. “I think you’ll find that there is still _plenty_ of me to enjoy yourself with, Weiss. And I _highly_ recommend you start with this.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Weiss couldn’t contain her laughter, now, finally breaking down; her posture slumping as she laughed; James Ironwood—- Stern, objective, reliable—-

_And at his core, soft._

Myrtenaster still in-hand, Weiss finally indulged in closeness; finally sat between Ironwood’s spread and bleeding legs, and gave his erection a tender doting.

There were deep scars at his penis’ base, and patchwork lines marring his testicles— and as a whole, he was somewhat malformed, she knew; though she didn’t have much to compare it to.

She traced her fingertips inside the tiny divots and craters left by old stitches and sutures, and along the signs of wounds made by vicious claws and teeth; all long-since closed and healed. It was a miracle he was even intact at all, really— let alone with a dick so eager and responsive, and with the ability to leak so much beautiful semen.

Weiss pressed her lips to Ironwood’s tip, and had to momentarily rear back in surprise; it was _delectably_ salty— and….  _tasted so vaguely reminiscent of coffee?_

She wanted— _more._

She went down on him with ridiculous vigor and enthusiasm, and Ironwood couldn’t help but buck his hips in blissful response. He was hesitant to touch her— to place his bloodied hands on her sweet head, and taint her flawless hair with his fluids.

But his want was too strong, his desire to _claim_ her too powerful—  and Ironwood slipped his fingertips into Weiss’ pale silver locks, gently rubbing and massaging her scalp as she so aggressively sucked and slurped his cock— His desire to tenderly touch and caress her marred only by not wanting to impede her head’s sweet, repetitive bobbing.

“Weiss,” Ironwood breathed, the feelings of her warm, wet mouth around him overtaking his rational mind. “Please,” he begged, his desperate words hanging low in his throat. “ _Please._ ”

Weiss gave Ironwood’s cock a final slow pass, running her lips so gently across his plump and pulsating velvet flesh, as her hands drifted from massaging his tender balls to caressing his smooth, muscular thighs. “’Please’ _what_ , General?”

She pressed a thumb into his thigh’s ever-weeping stab wound, her finely manicured nail’s point giving him such sweet agony.

Ironwood whined and again his head reared back, utterly overcome by the intensity of the sensations.

“I asked you a question, _James._ ” 

With short, panting breaths— he replied. “Run me through.” The color was draining from his lips. “ _Rip me apart!_ ” his voice cracked as he begged her, a screaming cry that shattered into a gasping wheeze. 

Weiss looked at him with soft, pleading eyes.

“You really _do_ enjoy this, don’t you..?”

Weiss sat up, and raised her rapier; two hands positioned so strategically along the hilt. And— _out of nothing, a glyph._

In a fraction of a second, Weiss ran Ironwood through— Her sword’s pronged hilt pressed firm against his chest, he gurgled and gasped from the sweet split-second shock, and the delicious surprise of being unable to move.

Ironwood numbly nodded at her.

Weiss went back to work on his scarred and malformed erection, which was twitching and throbbing so violently now—  Dribbling out so much of that tasty and vicious precum as he cried out in a twisted exhilaration; her sword once again a hot needle pinning him so helplessly to the wall.

“You look like you’re going to cum, James. But I feel like we only just got started,” Weiss pouted, and guided Ironwood’s steel fingers to his naval, the blood collecting at his seams allowing his fingers slide and glide so effortlessly. There was no rough resistance, and no chafe.  

“ _I want to make it amazing for you_. Help me out, James,” Weiss whispered to him so sweetly; and he couldn’t help but instantaneously comply.

Ironwood pushed his fingers through his scars as Weiss’ fingers worked his erection, blood so eagerly poring out of him as his mechanical hand went deeper and deeper still into his abdomen— 

And he pulled so mercilessly at himself, ripping and tugging his flesh aside—- Weiss salivated at the sight of him exposing the sweet colors of his organs to her, and she marveled at the the myriad of wires and thick, ribbed tubing that complimented his pearly sinew and teeny, tiny capillaries.

_He was making such lewd, impassioned noises._

_He was so, so damn close._

Weiss’ mouth again engulfed his erection; Ironwood’s sweet, delicious blood pouring over her, the copper taste of his blood so perfectly complimented the taste of his delicious cock— _so utterly soaked and basted in his delicious precum._

As she worked her lips up and down his shaft, and as his body tensed and struggled in such panic around her, a strange desire overcame her— 

Utterly lost in Ironwood’s unending moans and his insatiable thirst for agony, completely without thinking, Weiss bit down hard at his cock's base— and Ironwood came with a loud scream as his body convulsed and contracted in the throes of the most powerful orgasm of his life. Pouring spurt after spurt of his blood and his semen down Weiss’ throat, tears of joy and unbridled ecstasy streamed down his face.

He watched her, with wide, gleefully terrified eyes—

_She had severed him at the root._

And she had swallowed—- _Everything._

_It excited him in ways he had never known._

Wordlessly, he begged her—- Begged her, as if the lives of millions depended on her complacence, and her mercy.

Pulling out some still-connected and colorful lump of organ meat from within himself, he offered it to her— His mechanical hand’s coordination slipping from his profound blood loss, he trembled; his face completely blanched as his blood continued to gush freely, and so thoroughly soak them both.

Finding Ironwood’s crotch to now be a blackening and quickly coagulating mess, it was no longer terribly interesting to her— So Weiss leaned forward, boring into his eyes as she extended out her tongue, giving Ironwood’s offered organ a playful lick and smile, before taking it into her mouth.

__

* * *

__

  
“I… Got a little carried away,” Weiss said in a soft, hushed voice as she lazily stroked her belly, so delectably distended, full to the brim with Ironwood’s meat and his organs; his sweet blood still pooling so deeply around them both, the dried stain on her hands powdering burgundy, and flaking off as she moved from tending herself, to tending Ironwood’s decimated seams. “I’m sorry. I— I didn’t even get to fuck you, or anything, before biting your dick off. It was really— just short-sighted of me.”

“I-it’s fine, Weiss. It’s fine. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed—- Nothing my semblance hasn’t ridden out before.” Ironwood attempted to console her; to embrace her– but only managed a clumsy and too-heavy slump– too dizzy from blood loss, and still too lost in wake of such lingering delirious bliss.

“And well— technically, my dick _is_ currently inside you.” Ironwood jested, managing a choked, gurgling chuckle— before rancid blood bubbled out of his mouth, and dribbled down his chin. “Though— To be completely honest, Weiss—- _They weren’t ever sure that dick was actually mine_.”


End file.
